How can it be three weeks?
There are no answers.
He left no note, no explanation why that night was the one. No idea what pushed him over the edge. Things had been going well, or so it
seemed. In the end I’m left thinking I
failed him as a parent. He wasn’t
comfortable coming to me with whatever it was that was torturing him. It’s my job to make sure my kids are OK, that
they’re safe. I couldn’t protect him
from himself. I would have handcuffed
myself to him if I had known I needed to. I would have done most anything. I want to reach back in time to the moment I
last saw him alive. I think about all
the things I would have done and said.
And would it have helped? Or
would it just have put off the inevitable?
I’ll never know. I only know that
I feel like a failure.
Grief is a difficult process. Grief layered with a sense of failure takes
my breath away.
Ann, I've watched you raising your children for almost two decades now, and I can say with confidence that you are an amazing parent. You've raised your children in a loving, Godly home, and there was no way to know that this was coming. I also know that your grief is deep and words like these don't help much. I'm praying for you, along with many, many others who care about you and your family.
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